Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

Up on the dais the High Priest of Blind Io, who last night by dint of elaborate ecumenical argument and eventually by a club with nails in it had won the right to crown the king, fussed over his preparations. By the small portable sacrificial altar a tethered billy goat was peacefully chewing the cud and possibly thinking, in Goat: What a lucky billy goat I am, to be given such a good view of the proceedings. This is going to be something to tell the kids.

Vimes scanned the diffused outlines of the nearest buildings.

A distant cheering suggested that the ceremonial procession was on its way.

There was a scuffle of activity around the dais as Lupine Wonse chivvied a scramble of servants who rolled a purple carpet down the steps.

Across the square, amongst the ranks of Ankh-Morpork's faded aristocracy, Lady Ramkin's face tilted upwards.

Around the throne, which had been hastily created out of wood and gold foil, a number of lesser priests, some of them with slight head wounds, shuffled into position.

Vimes shifted in his seat, aware of the sound of his own heartbeat, and glared at the haze over the river.

. . . and saw the wings.

...

Dear Mother and Father [wrote Carrot, in between staring dutifully into the fog] Well, the town is On Fate for the coronation, which is more complicated than at home, and now I am on Day duty as well. This is a shame because, I was going to watch the Coronation with Reet, but it does not do to complain. I must go now because we are expecting a dragon any minute although it does not exist really. Your loving son, Carrot. PS. Have you seen anything of Minty lately?

...

“You idiot!”

“Sorry,” said Vimes. “Sorry.”

People were climbing back into their seats, many of them giving him furious looks. Wonse was white with fury.

“How could you have been so stupid? ” he raged.

Vimes stared at his own fingers.

“I thought I saw-” he began.

“It was a raven! You know what ravens are? There must be hundreds of them in the city!”

“In the fog, you see, the size wasn't easy to-” Vimes mumbled.

“And poor Master Greetling, you ought to have known what loud noises do to him!” The head of the Teachers' Guild had to be led away by some kind people.

“Shouting out like that!” Wonse went on.

“Look, I said I'm sorry! It was an honest mistake!”

“I've had to hold up the procession and everything!”

Vimes said nothing. He could feel hundreds of amused or unsympathetic eyes on him.

“Well,” he muttered, “I'd better be getting back to the Yard-”

Wonse's eyes narrowed. “No,” he snapped. “But you can go home, if you like. Or anywhere your fancies take you. Give me your badge.”

“Huh?”

Wonse held out his hand.

“Your badge,” he repeated.

“My badge?”